


Chiaroscuro

by boychik



Category: Code Geass
Genre: Art, Blood, Brothers, Death, Drabble, Gen, Revisioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boychik/pseuds/boychik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>This is it</i>, Clovis thinks as he stares down the handgun, trembling almost as much as he does as it dangles from the hand of Lelouch. <i>This is chiaroscuro, the dark swallowing the light.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Chiaroscuro

**Author's Note:**

> My headcanon is that Clovis is dumb because they let him paint with oils as a child and the fumes killed his brain cells.

_This is it_ , Clovis thinks as he stares down the handgun, trembling almost as much as he does as it dangles from the hand of Lelouch. _This is chiaroscuro, the dark swallowing the light._

Clovis remembers the art lessons, years ago. He sat, a blonde, impatient lad of seven, as his teacher, a bearded old man by the name of—what was his name? Clovis can barely recall the shadow of his face—as he instructed Clovis how to hold the brush (as far back as possible, not so far that you lose control over your work, but far enough so that your hand won’t catch and smear the wet paint below), how to mix the paints (start with about one-sixteenth part linseed oil per every part oil and work your way up each layer), how to measure (hold the pen until your arm is fully extended—close one eye for good measure—check the angle thus so) In this way, Clovis gained enough technical knowledge and an eye for detail so as to make any of his visions come true.

And come true they did! The lessons had served him well. Here he was, twenty-four years old and he had it all: robes made of the rarest leopard skins, a posse of nubile Britannian admirers who practically fainted every time he breezed by, and dominion over the most powerful empire in the world—what wasn’t to like?

And now his darling, miserable brother thought to take it all away from him? He loved Lelouch, but he was not going to let this happen. Clovis wants to snarl, leap like an animal and wrest the gun from Lelouch’s hand, beat the little wretch half to death with it if it meant that none of his beautiful life would be taken from him. But he’s a true prince in word and deed, not exactly like little Lelouch, now is he? He’s got to maintain some semblance of dignity. So rather than attack, he defends. Clovis simpers, “Lelouch, you wouldn’t do this to your own brother, would you now?” He keeps his eyes trained not on Lelouch, but on the trembling gun in his hand. Looks up for a second to plead his case and—

_“Shi ne!”_

—it’s all over in a heartbeat.

Everything he’s ever worked for, spent hours to fight for and perfect and control as the paint on his brush of the world is gushing away as he hemorrhages blood over the decadent stone commanded, surely, by his Britannian ancestors—the angry red bird has flown into his eye and it’s destroying his mind, destroying his memories as it takes him down with such a pain he cannot bear, oh, it is worse than the pain of the gunshot careening through his temple and crushing his brain and shattering his skull. Before he dies a memory breaks loose and floats to the surface as a sound beyond his retinas.

 _You see the skulls in so many paintings, Clovis?_ His old teacher’s voice drifts over him as young Clovis nods. _Do you know what they symbolize?_ Young Clovis has not an inkling, shakes his head. _Memento mori, Clovis, remember you will die_ —and as the bullet pierces the back of his head and exits his skull Prince Clovis is nothing but blood on the flagstones of his ancestors, a dead dream. _Note the chiaroscuro here, Clovis._ He knows even as he cannot know that the dark has vanquished the light.


End file.
